


Finding Falk

by MarilynsWolf



Series: AWF [4]
Category: Powerwolf (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Attila is too innocent for this, Gen, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Character Death, Prequel, both of them are very scarred, his whole family is fucking dead, implied gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25010206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarilynsWolf/pseuds/MarilynsWolf
Summary: How did Falk become part of the pack, anyway?Set about 5 years before the events of AWF, this is a tale of Attila's chronic inability to leave things well enough alone.
Relationships: Falk Maria Schlegel/Attila Dorn
Series: AWF [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1466413
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Finding Falk

**Author's Note:**

> I spent far too much time worldbuilding so now I am being cursed by my own hubris to work on orgin fics for this AU. I'm sorry y'all have been waiting nearly a year for this bullshit...
> 
> Anyway, wanted to explore how and why Falk joined Attila's pack and it got way too complex way too quickly so here we are.
> 
> Apologies for any format errors, I'm posting this chapter from mobile.

“This is a bad idea…” Attila’s head voice repeated over and over as he approached where that smoke was coming from. In this winter, forest dens were going to have fires; but this smoke smelled different. It had a sourness that he couldn’t quite place, but it definitely couldn’t be made by traditional firewood.

Technically, he supposed this was trespassing. But Attila had never been one for keeping within rules when someone needed help; or even, when he only thought they needed help. He’d have to do the soul searching later. For now, the edge of the clearing gave way to a small gravelled area, where a decently sized den stood worryingly worse for wear.

Charred patches dominated the woodwork, embers occasionally floating from the rooftop, looked like whatever fire had happened had mostly petered out. But the lack of smell from the heat of the fire only served to punctuate how strong the smell of blood was.

Attila’s eyes darted around the clearing; someone had to still be watching the den, they just had to be. He pulled his shawl tighter against himself, anxiously fiddling with its buckle piece. Breathing out most of his nerves was easy enough, although he did still cross towards the den as quickly as he dared to. The stench of blood wafting from the gap in the closed door concerned him. This would probably be depressing.

His hand hovered in front of the doorknob, decidedly unsure of himself. The two possibilities were: someone was alive in there, and no one was alive in there. He wasn’t sure which was worse. He steeled himself for a moment before pushing at the door, which obligingly opened.

The blood was the first thing he noticed. Really, as the seemingly dominant feature, it was hard not to. The sheer amount reminded him of those shitty slasher movies that humans made. Only this was real, which made him sick to think that humans saw entertainment in this somehow.

He stopped the bile threatening to come up with a bit more effort than he would care to admit. The den looked like it would be fairly cozy disregarding this horrific situation. Several things of note included the crosses adorning most of the walls, a haphazardly drawn, hanging height chart with a few names, and scattered sheets of paper covered in pups’ scrawlings. Attila’s heart sank further downwards. This was a family den.

He swallowed again, wrinkling his nose against the overwhelming stench of blood, stepping inside against everything his mind was screaming at him and closed the door behind him. If there were still Weres watching this den, he at least wanted some sort of audio clue that he had been followed inside. Not that he would really be able to do anything against any attacker that came forth.

The den was silent. Still, silent, and decidedly eerie in the current state Attila’d found it in. The sounds of the forest surrounding the den really only served to accentuate how abnormally quiet the inside was. Maybe it could have been mistaken for willingly abandoned; if not for the air of death choking the halls, or the blood everywhere.

Looking down at the floor, there were several distinct blood trails; or at least, several distinct trails of destruction. Attila clutched his shawl near chokingly against his shoulders as he tried to step as light as possible through the ransacked den. There probably wasn’t much of a reason to tread so carefully, but something told him that it wasn’t wise to take chances in this place.

The first trail he followed seemed to be the heaviest, tip toeing alongside smashed picture frames and walls covered in claw marks. Drifting his hand across the wall, Attila swore he could hear echoes of screams and distant shattering glass; almost like the den itself was trying to tell him what happened. His ears lay flat pressed against his head, pangs of sorrow pulling at him from the mere idea of dying in such a way that left this sort of destruction.

He cautiously poked his head through the doorframe that the trail led to, his breath catching in his lungs at the bloodied heap that lay against the back wall of the room. Without really thinking, Attila quickly dashed over and knelt beside the body, lightly pressing his hand against their blood-soaked fur; they were still a little warm. But, whoever it was, they were most definitely dead. Seemed like they had gone out fighting, too.

He could recognize the Alpha scent from the body in front of him, but not the specific scent of the Were, themself. Or at least, not a scent he had picked up from any of the inter-pack meetings for the area; though, he hadn’t attended one in months. Maybe this had been a newly established pack, which honestly made this massacre infinitely more tragic.

He didn’t give himself a chance to dwell on that, moving to gently place the body in a more restful position and pushing himself back up off the floor. If the Alpha was dead, he figured there really wasn’t any sort of chance of finding the rest of this pack alive. But, he still needed to check.

Stepping back into the corridor, Attila elected to ignore the growing unease building in his mind, if he just focussed on checking each room he came up to, he wouldn’t have time to acknowledge the strong instinct to leave. Not that the heightened possibility of only finding more dead would help much on that front. The fur along his spine began to bristle as he forced himself to continue exploring the ransacked den, not entirely thrilled with his own conscious decision to stick around.

A few doors down, the actual door itself was torn from its hinges, lying discarded across the floor. Attila let out a breath, preparing himself for what he was probably going to find. His steps crunched slightly with the sound of broken glass underfoot, the strides themselves not exactly any more confident, but rather more resigned to the only danger in this den being his own anxieties. Although aware that he was going to find probably nothing more than bodies, Attila kind of wished differently, especially when he laid sight upon what was in this now doorless room. 

His first instinct was to avert his gaze for a moment, arguing reality for a few seconds. Sucking in air through closed teeth, he felt his ears draw back as he flicked his gaze back to the three Weres lying across the floor. A Matron lay where she had fallen, an arm still reaching for the two eviscerated pups crumpled just out of her grasp. Attila felt his throat tighten, the horror clawing at his mind a lot stronger all of a sudden. But he couldn’t leave just the Matron forever separated from her pups like this, even if the thought of moving them was almost too much for him.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t really force the level of detachment that he wanted; a strong... Something bearing down on him as he tried to not think about the blood staining his sleeves. The fact that they still resembled human children definitely did not help. They were in one piece, though that was the best that could be said. Attila really didn’t want to imagine what would go through his head if anything fell off from the pups’ bodies as he dragged them against their Matron. By some small miracle he was able to keep from completely freaking out while uniting the corpses, but only barely. At least they were together now.

A thought briefly occurred to him, immediately cursing his own attention to detail as he darted back through the corridor to that bloodstained height chart. Rapidly scanned through it, there was one, two- Three names. Fuck. There was another Were somewhere in this ruined place. And judging by the corpses he just dealt with, the one left was the name near the top of the chart.

Attila forced himself to be extra curious; swiftly darting from door to door, room to room, trying to find that last body. He halted as he finally found at least the blood trail of this poor Were. But, this trail smelled different. Fresher, somehow. His fur bristled again at the path his mind went down. Shaking his head, he cautiously followed where the trail was leading him. A stairwell?

The lack of light leading into the basement, while no real issue on its own, only served to heighten his morbid curiosity. His steps down were slow, light footed, in short, trying not to slip on the slickened stairs. Every few steps, he paused, focussing his hearing down into the darkness hoping against all logic that he’d be able to detect anything. The smell of blood only got stronger the further down he went.

But, as the last of the light from the top of the stairs faded, he heard something, felt something, a draw too strong to ignore or dismiss. Attila’s descent down the remaining stairs was significantly quicker, quick enough that it was difficult to stop from tripping over himself when his footpad made contact with an accumulated pool of blood at the base of the steps.

While it was something straight out of a mild slapstick, it was probably wise to assume that anyone alive down here was decidedly not looking for the humour in things. His hurried entrance, while unborne of malicia, was kind of stupid now that he had a microsecond to think about it. This poor Were had their entire family murdered by a raiding pack, his frantic decent probably made him look like one of those fuckers came back to finish it. Oh well, it wasn’t like he could do a Take Two.

“Hello? I’m-I’m not here to hurt you…” His words probably didn’t matter, it was unlikely that this kid was in any way comprehensible at current. What was important was finding them, not that the pitch black made that easy. But, given the amount of blood he’d already come across, they were in dire need of medical attention.

The night vision that Weres were naturally blessed with could only do so much in the complete absence of light, but at least it was enough to keep him from smacking into anything. Attila mostly followed the smell of blood, every step closer giving him the same pull he felt in the stairwell. 

This kid had done almost too good a job of finding the most difficult spot in the basement to hide in, almost like they’d had to do this before. He didn’t want to think about the implications of that.

Through a maze of shelves and odd bits and pieces, he started to have an idea of where this Were had secluded themselves, mainly because he could start to hear their warning growls. They sounded about as weak as he expected; stuttered, laboured, breathless. Briefly he anxiously wondered if they were having trouble even breathing. It wasn’t improbable.

His search halted mid stride as he nearly fell to the floor on another patch of blood, it was lucky there was a shelf in the path of his fall, not that the calamitous clang of things smashing on the ground helped much. Wincing against the noise, Attila held himself still until the last of the ringing had stopped, slowly lowering down onto his knees in the least threatening way he could manage. “Heart attack” was definitely something to add to the list of things this kid had suffered today.

They were close, he could tell that much, close enough that he could pick up their actual scent over the overwhelming metallic of blood. There was something about their scent that was off, it was almost too young, if his assumption about them being the oldest pup was correct. A glint of something metal briefly flicked in the darkness, were they… Armed? Seemed like it. Attila frowned for a moment, getting defensibly stabbed wasn’t really on the cards, but he couldn’t blame them if he was. Though, why a presumably transformed Were would even need a blade was a mystery.

“I’m not here to hurt you-” He paused trying to remember the names on that chart. “...Falk, was it? I’m-I’m not with the ones that attacked you, whoever they were, they’re long gone.” Even in the pitch black, Attila had to turn his head away, not finding an easier way to say it. “Pretty sure you’re the only one left…”

The blood soaked into his sleeves and fur suddenly felt a lot dirtier, like he had intruded on the last remnants of all this Were had. The uncomfortable silence broke with a defeated sounding sigh, he just hoped that this Falk kid had concluded that he wasn’t bullshitting them. 

“You’re really not going to kill me?” Wow, their voice was a lot deeper than he’d expected; hell, maybe they were even approaching his own age. The fact that they probably had a knife was now even more confusing. But, they also sounded weak, tired, and understandably distrustful.

“I swear to you. Please, you smell like you’ve lost a lot of blood, let me help you.” Hopefully he didn’t sound impatient, but the sooner he could take them somewhere to heal, the better. He’d probably have to settle for taking them back home and having Roel or Matthew help patch them up, but it would be better than nothing. The pack had put up with him doing weirder things than bringing a stranger home, it’d probably be fine.

A few tense moments passed, Attila backed up a few feet instinctively as he felt Falk try to shuffle out from wherever they had hidden themselves. Evidently, they had been closer than he thought, as he heard the metallic scraping of their knife being dragged scarily close to where his tail had been. It wasn’t like he could exactly blame them for not wanting to put the thing away, given the situation. 

As his vision had adjusted slightly better during his time in the basement, there were two startling revelations about this Falk kid as they hauled themselves up on the same shelf that Attila had fallen into. One, they were A Lot taller than he thought they’d be, probably easily able to dwarf him without his extra transformation height. And two, their silhouette was completely human. No tail, paws, muzzle, or ears to speak of. Their possession of the knife suddenly made a lot more sense.

“Wait, how old are you!?” The squawked question left his mouth before he could stop it, his ears pulling back at Falk’s audible grimace. 

“Too old.” Was their strained reply, though it sounded like most of the strain didn’t come from the effort of getting to their feet. Clearly it was a touchy subject, but really, there was no reason it wouldn’t be. Attila bowed slightly with a quiet rolling chirrup, a rather traditional admission of fault. 

“Sorry. A lot has happened in the last half hour.” ‘Although, not anywhere near as much as what’s happened to you…’ He added mentally. “Let’s just get you out of here before you lose any more blood.” Attila already knew there was no way in Heaven nor Hell that this Falk kid(?) would be getting back up the stairs on their own, and he definitely wasn’t letting them walk all the way back to his den in their condition. But, he had already been stupidly rude enough to near shout at them on an obviously private matter, spontaneously whisking them off their feet to carry them up and away was really a step too far.

Falk made a quiet grunt of agreement but didn’t really make a move to push away from the shelf they were leaning on, let alone navigate back to where the stairs began; come to think of it, they were leaning very heavily to one side. Wouldn’t at all be surprising if their leg was broken. Seemed like near everything else was.

“Uh, do you need me to…?” Attila trailed off in the middle of his sentence, sparing the indignity of proposing to carry Falk aloud lest he accidentally insult them any further.

A moment passed and Falk dropped their shoulders with a low “Yes.” Barely reacting to being scooped into a bridal carry apart from a suppressed wince as Attila tried to position his arms underneath. He'd already somewhat written off his coat and shawl given the amount of blood, but with how drenched Falk felt, he knew there was pretty much no saving anything he was wearing. Not without a considerable amount of effort, anyway.

Obviously unsure about what to do with their arms, Falk had slung one arm around Attila's shoulder, with their other hand just kind of clutching at their probably ruined shirt. As tall as they were, there wasn't much else they could do to assist in the carry apart from tucking their legs slightly. Attila just hoped that he'd be able to get back through the basement and up the stairs without bumping them into anything.

Thankfully, the only major obstacle back to the stairs was the few things that had smashed to the floor when he tripped into that shelf; and even the stairs themselves, while still slick, were easy enough to climb back up. Somewhere between the basement and ground level, Falk had stopped trying to hold themself up, turning inwards to rest against the crook of Attila's neck. Their breathing had slowed, settling into a kind of interrupted rhythm that, while concerning, meant that they were at least somewhat conscious. 

Back in the light of day, it was much easier to see the damage, as it were. Falk looked about as bloodsoaked as they felt, not surprising when they'd been lying in a pool of their own blood for Maker knew how long. A small part of Attila kind of wished he'd picked them up the other way so that the side soaked in blood wasn't pressed against his torso, but that part was quickly kicked to the side. The state of his clothes was vastly unimportant compared to Falk's injuries.

As much as he wanted to get them home as soon as possible, there were a few slight issues right off the bat. Firstly, he didn't want to take them back through the den on a path directly in front of their massacred relatives. And secondly, there was no way he was going to walk all the way back with Falk being completely exposed to the open winter air. Their injuries probably already hurt enough without adding frost damage to the mix.

His tail flicked behind him for a moment as he tried to come up with a solution. There wasn't exactly a myriad of options, at least, none immediately obvious. He felt Falk shift in his arms, breaking his contemplative fuge; which made him latch onto something that, while admittedly stupid, would probably work. Taking a step away from the stairwell, he knelt down to place Falk against the wall, trilling reassuringly at their confused glance.

“It's too cold out to risk your injuries getting worse... This den got a linen closet or something?” While he'd prefer to wrap them in something that was definitely clean, at this point, he'd just take one of the blood spattered towels he saw in the bathroom if he really needed to. Any cover was better than no cover.

“Uh. Dow… Down there.” They weakly waved a hand down one of the corridors. “Middle door to the left.” They winced against the effort of speaking, lightly knocking their head back against the wall. “Ow.” 

Attila decided against asking if the deadpan “ow” was supposed to be sarcastic or not, quickly padding over to the indicated closet door, which thankfully looked relatively undamaged. There wasn't exactly time to care about what he grabbed, just taking the first thing he saw that wasn't a light colour, a black towel. Flicking it out, it was at least enough to cover their torso, that was really all that mattered.

Even though he'd stepped away for less than thirty seconds, Falk was already fighting for consciousness by the time he'd come back, a double edged sword at best. On one hand, maybe they were out of it enough that he wouldn't have to worry about carrying them past their dead family, on the other, he really didn't know what he'd do if they ended up dying themselves on the walk back to his den. That bridge’d just have to be crossed if he got it it.

It was somewhat of a relief when they gave a raspy trill in response to being picked back up and wrapped like a nestling, but Attila didn't want to risk bumbling around any longer. It was a long walk home, dawdling wasn't an option anymore. Not that it had been one to begin with.

Swiftly making his way back through the ruined den, he thanked whoever was listening that he’d accidentally left the front door slightly ajar when he'd swore it'd closed properly behind him. Nudging it open with his foot, he had to suppress a shiver from the slight wind chill that the walls had protected from. Frankly he was glad to be finally getting away from the overwhelming air of death that lingered in this place.

“Alright. Let's get you the hell out of here.” He didn't wait for a response, adjusting Falk in his arms to better shield them against the cold, and getting away from the den's clearing as fast as possible. Away from the destruction. Away from the tragedy. Towards home.


End file.
